


how deep the river runs

by lavendre



Category: Tales of Series, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendre/pseuds/lavendre
Summary: On the west end of the Glenwood continent, Sorey begins to pick apart his memory.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a larger work I had to cut for flow purposes. Post reunion, gen-flavored.

“Don’t overthink it,” Mikleo cautioned, carving apples in quarters, in eighths, “--I mean, I turned out alright, I think. And you know names and faces -- that’s more than most.”  
  
Sorey shuffled around the cabin, running his hands over furniture, parting curtains to let in the light. To a degree, he assumed Mikleo correct. “How many others like me have you seen? Are there any present?”  
  
Mikleo addressed his peeling more seriously, paring knife guided by his thumb and forefinger. Left-handed, Sorey recalled, to my right. Sometimes made breakfast awkward in booths. The perfect sparring partner, once -- now perhaps too tall to make it fair.  
  
“The few that I have seen tend to fixate on something from their past and get stuck on it. I mean, I get it. What’s carried over, I mean.”  
  
Sorey looked at him seriously. Mikleo’s hair curled at the ends where the tips turned from silver to blue, and it was distracting how his every movement was familiar, despite how the two versions of him waged battle in his head. Outside, the wind made the mast creak and groan above. “I remembered you. I remember everyone. Mostly, I just -- I don’t know anything about me.”  
  
Mikleo set down the knife and stood. He still dressed and carried himself the same, Sorey noticed, picking out the cleanliness of pants and tunic, slightly untucked but presentable, much like exchanges between them always had been. “Well,” he began quietly, “I can help you with that. It’s been a while, but. Ask.”  
  
His hands knotted themselves involuntarily, thumb stroking over his own bony knuckle. Sorey couldn’t feel the calluses, couldn’t remember the weight of a sword. Just a long sleep, a lot of stillness. “I don’t know where to start. Why don’t you tell me? Whatever you say probably won’t be far off from the truth.” Mikleo looked hard at him.  
  
“You’ve always placed your faith in me, even at times when it seemed we had nothing.”  
  
It was the truth, Sorey decided, because he believed him then, too.


End file.
